Ava Adore

DSM of Dbags: Type L: “The Waffler.”

Installment twelve of the catalogue of the douchebags I meet.

The other night’s Douchebag of the Night: Type L, “The Waffler.”

The psychology of the Waffler is a cowardly one. He knows where he is (a strip club) and what goes on there—and he didn’t just ‘come for the game’ and $9 beers. He looks like a client, talks like a client, walks like a client… but he just can’t seem to decide if he wants to act like one. The indecision is debilitating but you won’t know it until the last second—BAM! Waffled.

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DSM of Dbags: Type K: “Dramatic Foil.”

Installment eleven of the catalogue of the douchebags I meet.

The other night’s Douchebag of the Night: Type K, “Dramatic Foil.”

The psychology of the Dramatic Foil hinges on the presence of a Boobytrap. For some reason, this gent decided to take his lady friend to the club. And since this particular lady is a Boobytrap, she’s not too interested in being there, and he’s not too interested in being there: he’s interested in upping his chances with the lady he brought.

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DSM of Dbags: Type J: “Boobytrap.”

Installment ten of the catalogue of the douchebags I meet.

Last night’s Douchebag of the Night: Type J, “Boobytrap.”

The psychology of the Boobytrap basically includes breasts—less colloquially, this trait is found in cisgendered women, because the gendering is the basis for the issue. Most cis women believe that because they, too, have a vagina, they should not have to pay you. If anything, you’re competition to their status as ‘arm candy’ or ‘hot dancer.’ Exceptions apply if not heterosexual.

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DSM of Dbags: Type I: “Runaround Sue.”

Installment nine of the catalogue of the douchebags I meet.

Last night’s Douchebag of the Night: Type I, “Runaround Sue.”

The psychology of the Runaround Sue is rooted in commitment issues, a misplaced sense of power, and a disproportionate ego. He makes promises he does not intend to keep, strings you along, and then hangs you out to dry—all before you realize he’s a jackass and not actually a respectful client. He actually believes you’d prefer you’d go to dinner with him instead of pay your bills.

_{Ed note: On a sliding scale of douches, Runaround Sue seems to be a mix of the Bank Run/ner and That Guy, only with less skill and naivete, respectively.}

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DSM of Dbags: Type H: “Cockblocker.”

Installment eight of the catalogue of the douchebags I meet.

Last night’s Douchebag of the Night: Type H, “Cockblocker.”

The psychology of the Cockblocker is pretty much self-explanatory, as, in the case of That Guy, it transcends the strip club. Not unsurprisingly, this gentleman may even be more of a douchebag to his friend than to any of the girls, because he’s a whiny and/or angry pansy hellbent on ruining his friend’s night and any attempts at fun. Go listen to Dashboard Confessional already.

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DSM of Dbags: Type G: “Money Talks.”

Installment seven of the catalogue of the douchebags I meet.

Last night’s Douchebag of the Night: Type G, “Money Talks.”

The psychology of Money Talks involves sheer desperation and very grabby hands. We don’t why he can’t seem to get ass from any other female on the planet, but there he is, in his tipping glory. Unlike other douches, Money Talks has the willingness to spend—but also thinks this buys the privilege to mistake a strip club for a legitimate brothel.

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DSM of Dbags: Type F: “That Guy.”

Installment six of the catalogue of the douchebags I meet.

Last night’s Douchebag of the Night: Type F, the “That Guy.”
Technically we already had a Douchebag of the Night from last night, but Type F needs to be addressed, so you get two douchebags for the price of one! Score!

The psychology of That Guy transcends the strip club. You know ‘That Guy’ at the party. You know ‘That Guy’ at the restaurant. And how many times do you say, ‘Aw, c’mon, don’t be That Guy.’ Well kids, That Guy is the most prevalent kind of strip club douchebag because he is subtle and hides under the disguise of normalcy. Alias: ‘Oh? Is This a Strip Club? Musta Had It Confused With Walgreens’ Guy.

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DSM of Dbags: Type E: “Bank Run/ner.”

Installment five of the catalogue of the douchebags I meet.

Last night’s Douchebag of the Night: Type E, the “Bank Run/ner.”

The psychology of the Bank Run/ner involves insecurity and cowardice underneath a shield of machismo. The stealth ninjas of strip club douchebaggery, they’ll tip you, buy you drinks, and even say, all on their own, “I want to get a private with you, etc etc.” Then, bam! Doom: “Let me just run to the bank.” You will never see them again. Kiss it goodbye, they’re not coming back, and you just met a Bank Run/ner.

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DSM of Dbags: Type D: “Drunken Monkey.”

Installment four of the catalogue of the douchebags I meet.

Last night’s Douchebag of the Night: Type D, the “Drunken Monkey.”

The psychology of the Drunken Monkey is almost self-explanatory. These gents are beyond the legal limit. Shitfaced. Sauced. Hammered. Smashed. Plastered. Take your pick, because they aren’t forming words, let alone opinions beyond ‘You gotta purdy mouth.’ Any and all sounds will be at a yell. They are unaware, obnoxious, groping buffoons. They may be tipping—but is it worth it?

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DSM of Dbags: Type C: “Screwdriver.”

Installment three of the catalogue of the douchebags I meet.

Last night’s Douchebag of the Night: Type C, the “Screwdriver.”

The psychology of Screwdriver takes ‘sex sells’ to heart. These men are total tools only interested in spending time with you if you’re going to go home with them after the club. (Which, by the way, is illegal.) They confuse strip clubs with brothels. As with other douchebags, propensity toward not tipping.

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